Retrospection
by Dea Liberty
Summary: Gawain looks back on his day and thinks about the reasons he wants to kill Tristan. 'Gawain rolled over to watch Galahad, smiling as the younger knight mumbled in his sleep, apparently huffy and irritable even when dreaming.' GawGal SLASH


**Retrospection**

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognisable belongs to their respective owners, be it myths or whatever else. Everything here is the fictional work of the author herself and, unless otherwise stated, it is all in the author's mind.

**Pairings:** Gawain/Galahad

**Spoilers:** None.

**A/N:** Written for the lovely ladylalaith, who requested a fic involving "Gawain/Galahad and an arrow wound." Her word is my command I've been such a busy little procrastinator lately!

**Warnings**: SLASH

**Retrospection**

It started out as normal enough day: Gawain woke up, got dressed and gathered together with the rest of the knights and Arthur, ready to begin training. Needless to say, it looked like it was going to rain – again. By some mercy of Arthur's God or, as a matter of fact, any other god that saw fit to watch over them – or not – Gawain decided it was best not to think of those things. It was unnecessarily taxing, caused too many problems and simply, it was intangible; Gawain preferred to focus on what was in front of him.

So, anyway, it started out as a normal day, but it certainly didn't end one, Gawain thought, rolling over to watch Galahad sleeping and smiling slightly as the younger knight mumbled in his sleep, apparently huffy and irritable even when dreaming. Still, however wonderful the consequences, Tristan was _really _going to get an earful when he came back.

They had been training, mostly pairing off and sparring with one another. Tristan, being himself, had wanted to shoot more than he wanted to spar. Gawain suspected that was because he didn't want to get beaten by Lancelot again – but saying things like that might mean Woads mysteriously grow a backbone, creep into the fort, and slit your throat in you sleep, so Gawain preferred to think of it as Tristan wanting to give Lancelot some quality bonding time with Arthur.

But then again, that's still the normal part of the day. Gawain mentally shook himself; he was getting off topic again – not that he was talking to anyone, but he wanted to remind himself why he was angry with Tristan, because Galahad's breathing, coming in small puffs onto the side of his neck was certainly doing a brilliant job of distracting him from all thoughts of inflicting pain.

He had been sparring with Galahad, as usual. The homesick child that had been brought, practically kicking and screaming, into service was growing up to be quite a fine man, and Gawain was proud to say that he had done his part in that. Not that Galahad's immature impulses, hot-headed temper and almost naïve view of the world had changed much, nor his homesickness gone away, but Gawain wouldn't change Galahad for the world. Okay, so maybe a little bit more maturity and a little less homesickness, but that was just because he wanted to see Galahad at peace.

Where was he again? Oh yes, they'd been sparring as normal, when an arrow lodged itself in Galahad's leg, somehow managing to make it's way under that damned distracting kilt of his – and the young knight dropped to his knees, gasping in pain.

Gawain was torn between running to Galahad's side and attacking Tristan, but his legs made the decision for him. He dropped to his own knees by Galahad's side (mind still trying to decide what to do, having not caught up with his body yet) still cursing Tristan to hell and back. After inspecting the wound and deciding that he'd better take Galahad to a doctor to get the arrow out, he lifted the younger knight easily into his arms, making a mental note to make him eat more.

He threw a glare at Tristan, to which the reply was: "sorry, I missed," before rushing off.

Sadly, he found no doctors. Apparently, they were all taking a holiday since there didn't seem to be any battles. And the knights, they thought, were capable of not harming each other badly enough to need them. Bloody fools, the lot of them.

Gawain pushed Galahad's kilt up slightly, enough to see the wound (and all the while attempting to keep his mind on the task and not in the gutter) and eased the arrow out. In retrospect, he should have been a little suspicious of how deep it had gone in – which was not deep at all, but at the time, he wasn't thinking about that.

He was thinking about patching Galahad up, and resolutely _not_thinking about doing anything else to him.

Still, his body betrayed him, hands seeming to linger on the younger knight's thighs for longer than strictly necessary as he cleaned the wound, and fingers seeming to wander all on their own as he bandaged it up again. It seemed like a suspiciously long time before Gawain finished, almost a little reluctantly.

"There. All patched up," his whispered, patting Galahad's leg one last time. Galahad, however, seemed to have different ideas. He moved in such a way that his kilt, which had formerly been pushed up slightly, slipped to reveal a _lot_ more skin.

Gawain tensed, fingers digging slightly in the newly bandaged wound, causing Galahad to hiss slightly in pain and Gawain to look up at him in concern out of reflex. It was too late to hide the hunger that laced the worry in his eyes.

"Oops," whispered Galahad, taking on a look of complete innocence, but his eyes glinted mischievously, telling Gawain that he knew _exactly_what he was doing. He shifted again, and that accursed kilt rode up a little higher, then caught Gawain's eye and grinned playfully at him, adjusting his position so he was sitting invitingly on Gawain's bed.

And Gawain was lost.

Apparently, Galahad wasn't as innocent as he made himself out to be.

And so, Gawain ended up where he was with Galahad in his bed, snoring slightly, and his arms wrapped protectively, almost possessively around him.

And he swore he would kill Tristan.

Whilst panicking, he didn't stop to think that Tristan never _ever_ missed, or that the others didn't seem the least bit concerned that he had hit a fellow knight, or, when Gawain had gone out to look for him to do some serious damage (he was going out to look for wine to clean the wound with and thought to make a short stop on the way), Arthur had shrugged, smiling ruefully, before telling him that he'd sent Tristan out scouting. How convenient.

In retrospect, he should kill everyone, not for putting him in this predicament (he supposed he should be thankful), but for hurting Galahad in the process.

Them playing matchmaker, well, thinking about it, Gawain should have seen it coming.


End file.
